


You Are the Way Home

by Ashfell (textbookMobster)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Post-Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Temporary Amnesia, Wyvern Lord!Edelgard, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/Ashfell
Summary: Byleth wakes up to a world changed. While she struggles to reconcile her fractured memories with the present, Edelgard begins preparations to march once more.A fic on memory loss and memory-making.





	1. haunt me in my sleep

**Author's Note:**

> this shit is unbeta'd but i hope you all like it anyway ((φ(．．｡)
> 
> this fic is dedicated to cadenza, whose encouragement i greatly treasure, be it on the battlefield or in writing

The sky was crying—on the day Byleth woke up from her five-year slumber. Gentle drops slid down her cheeks as if she herself had been crying, though the sudden burst of melancholy that blossomed in her chest seemed misplaced. Why was she sad? she wondered. Loss draped around her like a familiar shroud.

“Byleth, is that you?” A voice asked, shattering the quiet of her thoughts. She lifted her gaze and met the concerned eyes of a broad-shouldered man decked in steel. He seemed affable enough, and his bushy moustache made him look harmless.

“How do you know my name?” Byleth all but croaked, her throat painfully dry.

“How do I—? Why, because your father and I were old friends, my dear. Have you hit your head on something hard? Well, I suppose you have if you don’t remember me.” He unclipped the water pouch by his hip and offered her a drink, cautioning her to slow down.

“Do you remember anything at all? You’ve been missing for five years, you know,” the man continued, unaware of the confusion crawling down Byleth’s spine, accompanying a thrill of fear. “The emperor will be quite pleased to have you returned to us. She was frightfully worried.”

She settled for nodding in agreement, not wanting to worry the man further. Once she was visibly recovered, Alois—he had introduced himself indirectly while he was rambling—acquired a horse for her and guided them both back to the towering shadow of a crumbling monastery.

There was something not right about the picture before her, not just that the monastery looked different, but that it was incomplete somehow. She wondered bleakly if it had to do with the father she had lost twice—once to some veiled event Alois mentioned in passing, and now to the void that had somehow swallowed her memories—but even that seemed like merely a part of some greater whole.

“You mentioned that there were people looking for me.”

“Your old students.”

“And how many of them are there?” Byleth asked, urging her horse to a stop.

“Enough that they would throw a party at your return.” Alois grimaced. “Ah, I suppose it would be too much to see all of their faces at once, eh?”

“I would hate to disappoint them.”

“Right. We’ll sneak right past them then. Like a pair of thieves breaking into a mighty fortress.” He brightened at the thought.

“Sounds positively nefarious.”

“Can you imagine the look on ol’ Hubert’s face? Oh, give me a second.” Alois motioned for her to stop and approached a single guard standing steadfast next to a small archway just large enough for a messenger to slip through. Byleth found herself assessing the structural integrity of the stone foundation and measuring its distance from the main gates. She frowned and followed Alois through the messenger gate and into a narrow alley, ignoring the grinning guard who gave her a two-finger salute.

“Alois.”

“Hmm?”

“What exactly am I a teacher of?”

Alois’s cackling reply echoed across the monastery.

* * *

Although Byleth had urged for a more quiet reception, she still found the infirmary crowded with worried faces by the time she had finished her physical check-up with Manuela, a woman whose generous cleavage made Byleth nervous. She wanted to reassure them, but wasn’t sure how. The severe-looking men were conversing at the back of the room in harsh whispers, and the silver-haired youth sitting by her side unsettled her. Another woman, hair a striking violet, stood by her other side, arms folded, her gaze indifferent.

“I’ve seen this handiwork before,” the older gentleman insisted. “It’s not the same spell per se, but the roots of it are the same. Hubert, it has to be him.”

“Quiet, old man. Best you keep that opinion to yourself,” Hubert growled, bristling with dark anger.

“We all know who the culprit is, Hubert.”

“Lady Edelgard—”

“_He_ might not be the one who hurt her, but his knowledge of the arcane cannot be denied. Besides, he never liked the professor.”

“The handiwork is similar, true, but even if we had the burden of proof, we cannot launch a campaign against him, not when we are at the cusp of ending this war.”

“We will need the professor at her best—”

“She is not an invalid, Lady Edelgard. She can still fight. She can still lead. Hanneman has confirmed as much. Whoever wanted her memories gone wanted a puppet, someone they could still use.”

“Lucky us then, eh? We get to use her instead.”

The ferocity of her reply stirred something in Byleth, something that woke her from her weary stupor. She thought of the war in the abstract, of lives lost, land gained. The idea of war was reprehensible, but Edelgard’s pained, earnest expression spoke of a vision more grand than mere conquest—it spoke of revolution.

She touched Edelgard’s arm and essayed a crooked smile. “I don’t mind being used.” She caught Manuela’s smug grin and sighed. “For the war effort I mean. Professor Manuela, is your mind always in the gutter when it comes to your students?”

Manuela’s grin only widened at Byleth’s challenging riposte. “What can I say? It’s so easy to live vicariously through you, my dear. You were quite the popular teacher once upon a time.”

“You make it sound like I’m a has-been.”

Alois chortled. “Ah, I see you haven’t lost your cheek either, Professor.”

Byleth slid her hand into Edelgard’s, ignoring the way Hubert’s expression shifted into calculating cool. “Mhhm. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to rest a while before I meet the others. You would think I would have more energy after waking up from a five-year nap, but alas, my body begs to differ.”

Her grip on Edelgard’s hand tightened when the others began filing out of the room, shooting her looks of sly understanding. “I was hoping you could indulge me with the pleasure of your company, Your Majesty.”

“Your memories—?”

“I don’t need my memories to recognize who holds the power in a room. Besides, Alois’s expression said it all.” Byleth took in her side profile, enjoying the spreading flush that coloured a dour façade. “Tell me, Your Majesty, are you always so protective of your inferiors?”

“You were gone for five years, Professor.”

“Byleth, please. I think it would help with the recovery if you were to call me by my proper name.”

“It would be improper—”

“Would it?” Byleth asked quietly. “The others defer to you despite being professors themselves. You approached my bed while they kept a respectful distance. Maybe I just need someone who can be honest with me.”

“Byleth, what do you need to know?”

_ Who are you to me? _ But would that question be too soon to ask? She had found a ring among her things, and a bracelet with the Black Eagle crest. Surely she meant something to the young emperor.

Not that it mattered. Whatever they had before would have to remain behind the veil that hid her memories. It would be too easy to be tricked into caring for someone after all. “Everything you know.”

* * *

Edelgard wasn’t sure how to respond to this strange version of Byleth, one who flirted more openly despite the sudden distance between them. She was almost the Byleth Edelgard knew before she became their professor all those years ago: charming, easy to talk to but difficult to read. She missed Byleth fiercely, but having her around only served to deepen the wound of her absence.

She was pressed next to Edelgard now while she listened to her talk about the current political climate along the borders of the Leicester Alliance, who were more inclined to serve the Empire than their north-eastern counterparts. Despite looking half-asleep, Byleth still found the energy to ask intelligible questions, from troop movements to the cost of supply lines on both sides. She had the clumsy mind of a woman used to more small-scale tactics, but her eagerness to fill in the gaps was damnably endearing.

She asked after her students too once their conversation had grown too technical for her. Edelgard spoke haltingly of her former classmates at first, regaling Byleth with stories of their triumphs and mishaps. She found it ironic that by the time she had gotten to Linhardt, the professor was well and truly asleep, her face pressed into Edelgard’s shoulder. Edelgard slipped out of her grasp and gently tucked her into bed, making sure that her boots were off her feet, and the more awkward bits of her armour had been removed. Once she was sure that Byleth was comfortable, she slipped out of the infirmary and made her way to the war room.

She found Hubert there, shuffling papers around, a dark gleam in his eye. “I trust the reunion was to your satisfaction?” Edelgard sat next to him and sighed. “Do you think it’s too late to have my uncle executed?”

Hubert’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile. “Perhaps if you had gone with the mad emperor route we might have been able to.”

“Pity. It would have been so satisfying.”

“I could always have him poisoned?”

“And lose the thread of his various plots?” Edelgard shook her head. ”We’ll just have to meddle in more subtle ways.”

“Hanneman assures me that he and Manuela will have the spell broken by the end of the week. The mind’s a delicate thing, but it helps that the professor’s mind has always been fairly tidy.” Hubert hesitated. “They do want to bring Linhardt in, with your permission. I know you wanted to keep this quiet until we’ve helped the professor, but he is quite brilliant despite his flaws.”

Edelgard inclined her head in assent. With the professor at their side, surely things could finally move forward once more. They had been stuck in a deadlock against both the Alliance and the Kingdom for so long—the Master Tactician’s ploy no doubt—and Edelgard’s main force was growing restless. Edelgard always knew that they would need to take Claude out first, but with their troops spread so thin, it would be hard to fight him on even terms. Edelgard had resigned herself to amassing a larger force to drive the slippery bastard out of hiding, but with the professor back, they could go with their original plan of driving a small strike force into the heart of Alliance territory.

Edelgard just hoped that Byleth would prove agreeable once she got her memories back. She wasn’t sure she could afford a fractured army if Byleth chose to challenge Volkhard von Arundel prematurely.


	2. you were a kindness (when i was a stranger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, this fic was partly inspired by greenhousegatekeeper's fic [troubles of the heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085577/chapters/47572747) but i ended up writing a flirty byleth instead because im a one-trick pony and this is my special(?) skill hahaha
> 
> also the phrase "threshold of revelation" comes from Tony Kushner's _Angels in America_ w/c i still think about from time to time. you guys can check out the hbo mini-series or the novel (heck, id lend u my copy if i could) c:

The days leading to the return of Byleth’s memories proved surreal for the former mercenary. They had kept her in the Archbishop’s old quarters for the time being, with only books and Hubert’s company to keep her preoccupied. While Byleth was sure that the emperor’s second-in-command didn’t like her, he was still an engaging conversationalist, and the work that he brought with him kept her entertained, much to the dark mage’s amusement. Perhaps if things had gone differently in her life, she would have made an excellent spymaster.

She was working on some battalion arithmetic when a young, long-limbed man with long green hair in a scholar’s knot appeared by the door, carrying a stack of old tomes. By his elbow were Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman, staring back at her with open curiosity. “It really is you, Professor,” the youth said, dumping his books on top of her neat pile of furiously scratched-out calculations. “I’m Linhardt, in case you’ve forgotten . . . which I suppose you have.”

“And I _suppose_ that you’re one of the funny ones?”

“Oh no, Professor, making others laugh takes too much energy to be a viable hobby. I fish instead.”

Byleth lifted an eyebrow at Hubert, who was collecting her notes. “Fishing?”

“You’re quite the avid fisherwoman yourself, if I recall.” 

“Did I indulge in other eccentricities as well?” Byleth asked, ignoring the way the others circled her and flipped through their various reference books. 

“The former Archbishop caught you smuggling stray cats in your room once.”

“The Archbishop . . . .” Byleth allowed herself to be dragged into the middle of a complex occult circle, grimacing when Manuela’s cool fingers touched her elbow to correct her stance. “We’re in her room, correct?”

“We are.”

“Do you think she would mind dreadfully if I transformed her former quarters into a cat haven?”

Hubert let out a full-bellied laugh. “I’m sure if you ask Lady Edelgard nicely she would say yes.”

“I wonder if she’s available for tea this afternoon . . . .” Light surrounded Byleth, cutting off her train of thought. She saw the others take a step back, joining hands as they began to chant in a strangely familiar language, their voices sinking into her subconsciousness. Ugly geometries clouded her vision while spider-strands of starlight bled from her skull, unraveling beyond the four stone walls. Comprehension hit her like a crack of thunder as memories poured into her, dispelling the fog that covered most of her empty mindscape. She fell to her knees, gasping for air, feeling the spectre of a hooded figure stumbling behind her, their connection breaking loose. She tried to claw out of the stygian darkness that was beginning to consume her, but her body was adamant. It could not hold onto the sudden deluge of memories that were running through her mind now, not without fracturing her sense of time. 

“Byleth!” she heard someone shout before collapsing into the arms of sleep once more.

* * *

Edelgard was overseeing training when news of Byleth’s collapse reached her. She handed over the reins to an over-enthusiastic Caspar and hurried to the third floor, worry and anger warring in her chest. She flung the door open and turned to Linhardt who was slouched in a corner. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“Her reaction to the spell was well within the parameters we established. She should be fine after a solid nap.” Linhardt yawned. “Speaking of which . . . .” He straightened to his full height and nodded at Edelgard before exiting the Archbishop’s bedroom.

Edelgard turned to Hubert who was listening closely to Manuela’s diagnosis. “Well?”

“He’s right, Your Majesty. Her mind will need to adjust to the sudden influx of new memories. Professor Manuela tells me that some REM sleep should help speed the process.”

“Thank you. You may go.” Edelgard found an empty seat next to an ugly-looking rolltop desk that had seen better days. 

“Hubert, do you think she’ll be alright?”

Hubert closed the door after Manuela and Hanneman were gone and took the seat next to her. “She’s made of hard stuff, our professor. I think she’ll be fine.” Hubert shrugged. “And if she isn’t, I can always stab her to death for disappointing you.”

“Please don’t. Think of the paperwork I’ll have to deal with just to find you a replacement.” 

“Me?” Hubert asked, looking genuinely scandalized.

“The mad emperor route is beginning to sound more plausible the more you talk.”

“I see my morbid sense of humour is beginning to rub off on you.”

Edelgard snorted. “What can I say? You’ve been a bad influence.”

They sat in companionable silence soon after, each ruminating over the day’s duties left undone. Edelgard knew that she would have to explain her odd behaviour to the rest of their peers in tomorrow’s meeting, and Hubert was going down his mental checklist of which merchant to court next. They sat together until the sun was overhead, and the lunch bell had rung twice already. Hubert made excuses to leave—there really was too much to be done—which left Edelgard brooding by herself.

“My teacher . . . come back to me whole. Please.”

* * *

“Hey, Petra!” Caspar jogged to meet her halfway, whistling a note of appreciation at the sight of a full-grown deer draped over her shoulders. “We’ll be eating well tonight. D’you want me to drag Linhardt out of whatever rock he’s under to help us smoke the meat?”

“I was wanting Shamir’s help with the hide actually. Bernadetta is telling me that some of the leather armguards need replacing, and she is offering to help with the sewing.”

Caspar brightened at the thought. “Do you think she can embroider something cool on mine? Some of the knights say embroidery brings you luck.”

“I think they are saying that to the ladies that they are wooing, Caspar.” Petra patted his shoulder and headed for the training grounds in search of Shamir. “But I will tell Bernadetta all the same.”

“Gosh, I hope she doesn’t think that I’m wooing her!”

Petra gave Caspar the side-eye and giggled. “I think Ferdie is sweet on her actually.”

“What? No way!”

“And Hubert is giving her the moon eyes too.”

“Girl’s got game.”

They spoke animatedly on the way, pausing to apologize to a flustered gatekeeper who had not been warned about Petra’s tendencies to walk around the monastery with various game animals draped around her person. By the time they found Shamir, they had caused quite a ruckus already, from soldiers cheering at the prospect of venison for dinner, to nobles tutting at “savage” behaviour. Caspar was more than ready to kick their asses if not for the timely appearance of Dorothea, who was quick to latch onto his arm while showering Petra with praise for her proficiency in hunting.

They spent the afternoon skinning the deer and prepping its hide for tanning. Dorothea, who was eager to get away from the growing mess behind the kitchen, was more than happy to help the cooks instead, cutting up vegetables and measuring spices for the venison stew that they were making. They were in high spirits by the time that Shamir and the cooks were shooing them away; they had idle soldiers aplenty who were more than willing to do the cleanup in exchange for a bowl of meaty stew. 

Tipsy with the success of a job well done, the trio found themselves in search of their dauntless leader next while they stumbled into each other. Caspar was the first to tap out, having been invited to an arm-wrestling contest he couldn’t possibly win. Dorothea, who was more than happy to have Petra to herself, tried to coax the young hunter into teaching her a Brigid folk song, but mostly ended up humming a sweet melody that had Petra feeling warm all over. When they couldn’t find Edelgard in her usual stomping grounds, they went searching for Hubert instead.

They found him near the market sulking by the shadows, probably waiting for one of his _friends_ to show up.  “Hubie!” 

“Excuse me?” Hubert arched an eyebrow and glared down at Dorothea with all the fury of a saint of Seiros.

“Hubert, Hubert, Hubert. Have you seen Edie around?”

Hubert made a noncommittal noise and eased further into the shadows. Or tried to anyway. 

“Please, Hubert. Lady Edelgard seems down lately. We are hoping to surprise her with some good food and merriment,” said Petra. “Think of it as . . . how would you say it, Dorothea? Strengthening cultural ties between Brigid and the Adrestian Empire?”

“You are twisting my arm,  _ Lady _ Petra.”

She slow-blinked at him, curious. “Why would I twist your arm, Hubert? You are an ally.”

“If I let the emperor know that you are looking for her, will you cease your meddling?”

“Get her to have dinner with us and you have a deal, Hubie.”

Hubert gave them an ironic half-bow. “As you wish.”

* * *

Byleth woke up.

It felt as if she crossed from one mist-covered realm into another, chasing after thoughts that dissipated at the barest touch. She felt as if she was at the threshold of revelation, only moments away from remembering who she really was. But still there were gaps in her memory.

Not for the first time she wondered how much of her past was conjured, and how much of it had blurred together into a shoddy tapestry of endless days and nights marching side by side with her father, fighting the battles of other men who knew only the dignity of leading their people from afar. They were the first to come back—those memories. When she closed her eyes, she could still smell her father’s unique scent, mixed with cured leather and maintenance oil. 

Yet, there were gaps nonetheless—weathered away by time or magic she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember her birthdays leading up to her years as a teenager. It wasn’t that Father didn’t celebrate them; it was just that she couldn’t tell apart those inconsequential days anymore. She remembered the first time she rode a horse: how strange it was to feel the horse’s muscles moving underneath her, how she had fallen twice in her haste to learn horseback riding on her own. 

She remembered.

Well. A lot, but not quite enough. 

There were gaps in her memory and the thought of that loss made her blood sing with anguish and fury. She remembered the clinical gloves that had brought her to her knees, had sent her tumbling down the ravine after casting that wretched spell on her. She remembered those pale, cruel, glittering eyes, and the darkness that had crawled all over that ghostly, ghastly form. 

If only she could remember his name.

There were other mysteries too, like the woman who had fallen asleep near her bed, silvery strands of hair fluttering across her face. Who are you, Byleth wondered. Why do you make my chest ache so? 

And,  _ what secrets do you hide from me? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this particular [Fire Emblem fanart by sirpangur](https://twitter.com/sirpangur/status/1155603707763003392?s=20) @ twitter is how i imagine my byleth (though it was a happy coincidence that we both created a byleth beloved by cats)


	3. we've gotta let go of all of our ghosts (we ain't kids no more)

The next time Byleth woke up, it was to the sound of someone singing. This was no church hymn however, no exquisite highs and lows beyond the gentle, stumbling caress of a voice used to singing to an audience of one. She reached for the hand that rested on her thigh, giving the woman by her side a sleepy smile. “Had I known you were a songstress I would have asked you to serenade me much sooner.”

“P-professor.”

“Byleth,” she corrected out of recent habit and realized her mistake too late.

Edelgard’s face fell. “So you do not recall who I am?”

Her hand was warm and calloused from handling swords and axes. Byleth pulled her closer and shuffled a bit so that she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Edelgard. “I remember some parts,” she admitted haltingly. “I remember defying the Archbishop. I remember some of your classmates. Most of them, actually. I even remember Hubert for fuck’s sake. But I don’t remember you.” Byleth grimaced and shook her head. “Well, actually I do. I remember your alter ego, at least: the Flame Emperor. But they’re not the one I swore fealty to. That’s you, isn’t it, Edelgard? You’re at the centre of all this.”

Edelgard quirked an eyebrow and deflected, “For someone who is so convinced that she does not remember me, you seem oddly comfortable letting me into your personal space.”

The challenge in her voice drew Byleth’s eyes to her lips. She leaned forward in answer, feeling Edelgard’s warm breath on her skin, the brush of her fingertips around Byleth’s bicep. She shivered and licked her lips, her gaze sliding upwards to meet Edelgard's eyes, finding herself slipping into those lavender pools.

“What can I say?” Byleth murmured, playing with the loose strands of Edelgard’s hair. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Edelgard pushed away, face flushed with embarrassment. “I am not!”

“Besides, there’s a certain irony in using Rhea’s bedroom for these kinds of illicit rendezvous.”

“There has been nothing _ illicit _ going on.”

Byleth laughed and slipped into the covers once more, letting her body sink into the mattress. She had hoped that her suspicions were correct, that Edelgard was earnest, well-intentioned if a little naive, but no heartless killer. The evidence of her youth quelled some of Byleth’s writhing worries. But how then to proceed? She met Edelgard’s furious gaze and burrowed deeper into her blankets. Maybe if she pretended to go to sleep Edelgard would simply stomp off?

“I can see you scheming right there.”

Byleth waggled her eyebrows in response.

“Byleth!”

“See? You can say my name after all.”

Edelgard threw her hands up and sighed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Have I always been?”

“Excuse me?”

Byleth uncovered her face a little. “Was I always like this with you?” she asked. “Did I tease you so? Before, that is. While you were still my student.”

The look that Edelgard gave her was pained. It struck Byleth then how much grief her disappearance must have brought the young emperor. She eased out of the large, four-poster bed and wrapped Edelgard in a careful hug, feeling the younger woman slump against her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, kid.” She tightened her hold on Edelgard and reached for some memory that might be of use to her. She thought of Jeralt and his kind smile and his long hugs and his gruff but affectionate way of speaking. He had been awkward too when it came to providing comfort, but he fucking well tried his best anyway. Maybe that’s all that mattered.

* * *

The Five AM Squad were the first to see the professor after she was finally released from her semi-prison atop the third floor. Ferdinand, in white, pristine running shorts screeched to a stop, staring slack-jawed at Byleth, who was cursing silently while trying to disentangle herself from her fishing line.

“What was that for, Ferdie?” Leonie exclaimed.

“P-professor?”

As one, they turned towards the dock where a pair of cats were watching Byleth with great interest.

“Professor!”

They dogpiled on top of her, screaming wild jubilations at the rising sun.

“No.” Byleth wheezed, trying to push Petra away. The taller warrior grinned down at her while she wriggled in protest. Annette, who was squished between Leonie and Ferdinand giggled at Byleth’s pathetic expression. “Get _ off _ me.”

“Not until you tell us where you’ve been, Professor.”

“Yeah, Professor,” Leonie said in a sing-song voice. “Here we thought you had died or gotten kidnapped or something.”

“All three happened, actually, but not quite in that order,” Byleth deadpanned.

They tumbled off of her and crowded in again, jostling her into a semi-group hug.

“Let us go, Professor. We have to tell everyone you’re back,” Ferdinand said from her left. “I bet Edelgard will cry at the sight of you. She was hopeless without you, you see. She had to come to me for guidance.”

“Do not be listening to Ferdinand, Professor. Lady Edelgard is still an excellent leader even while you were absent from her side. But she is missing you.”

“Hah! She was a lost pup without you, Byleth.”

“She worked harder than the rest of us to find you,” Annette added. “It was really sweet actually. I think that’s why a lot of us stayed even after you went missing.”

They pulled her along towards the dining hall, past the cooks who were just beginning their preparations for the morning meal.

“Do you think we should wake the rest, Ferdie?” Leonie asked.

“Let them sleep. They’ll see the professor soon enough.”

Byleth massaged her neck and sighed, letting herself be dragged into a seat next to Ferdinand. “I forgot you kids like to go at it in the morning.”

“You’re beginning to sound like my old man,” teased Leonie.

Byleth rolled her eyes. “What’s with the hair, Ferdinand? Surely you have better fashion sense than that.”

He flushed, stuttering, “I was hoping I’d look dashing, Professor.”

“At least tie your hair up. It hides your best features.”

“Yes, _ Mother. _”

They dug elbows at each other and grinned, easing into light conversation that tried to cover the last five years while Byleth had been in her coma. She had been amused to learn that they had been rambunctious without her, causing Hanneman’s beard to grow even greyer and Manuela’s general effervescence to fizzle out into middle-aged fatigue. But they had taken Byleth’s love of learning to heart and had found themselves teaching first, the younger kids, and later each other, finding camaraderie in the library and in the training grounds, where the veterans sometimes watched and offered them suggestions. It was heartening too—to learn that Jeralt’s mercenaries had stayed despite losing both their leader and his daughter in quick succession. They had remained doggedly loyal to the cause, though they had taken to following Leonie around after she had bested their best soldier with her lancework and her ruthlessness when it came to games of chance.

By the time others were beginning to trickle into the dining hall, Byleth was happy-drunk with stories of their past, more full than she ever was in a long time. She greeted astonished former students with a coy smile and a flick of her fingers, eliciting cries of disbelief from the majority of them. A few, like Caspar, insisted on giving her bear hugs that seemed to go on forever.

“I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with everyone,” Hubert said, practically materializing next to Byleth after she refused another offer to go for dessert.

“They caught me unawares.”

“Poor form of you, Professor.”

“Mm. Still, it’s nice to see them again.” Byleth leaned back and looked up at Hubert. “How is she, by the way?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Hubert asked with a thunderous expression that promised a painful death if she so much as sneezed at Edelgard.

“Alright, alright.” Hubert turned to go. “Hey, Hubert?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For looking out for me and for Edelgard.”

Hubert’s spine straightened—just a tad—but Byleth saw it all the same. “Well. That’s only to be expected. I am her right hand after all.”

* * *

It was petty of Edelgard to feel spite at the sight of Byleth conversing freely among her former students, but she felt it nonetheless, boiling underneath her skin, threatening to spill over into something like rage. She missed her Byleth, the one who understood her so easily, the one who looked at her like she had hung the stars themselves. But that woman was gone, and in her place was a phantom that haunted Edelgard’s waking moments.

She knew that in her heart what she felt was unfair. She had put Byleth on a pedestal while the woman was gone, often imagining how Byleth would have led differently, secured them a victory in some other way, some better way, if she had been around. Still, she grieved for Byleth, grieved for what they could have had, and kept her distance.

There would be no need to burden Byleth with her problems now. Let her have her happiness.

After all, Edelgard had caused so much tragedy in her life already. She could give Byleth this much at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is _your_ headcanon Five AM Squad? (ಠ.ಠ)


	4. and whilst i watch in silence, you're starting forest fires

She would have to be a fool to miss the circumspect way in which Hubert treated her, finding trivial tasks for her to do, or directing her towards more logistics work—the machines of war built on bread, boots, and bodies. But Byleth was no fool, for all that she played the role of one, her genial nature easily concealing a mind that whirled with imagined schemes. Preparations for the Great Bridge of Myrddin Assault were well underway, but while Byleth had access to Hubert’s notes, the picture it painted was incomplete.

The imperial army was vast, that much she knew, especially when it was supplemented by so many auxiliary units and mercenary companies that had been recruited over the years. Still, Byleth was no slouch when it came to arithmetic, and the files that she had been given did not cover a fifth of the army. That is, Hubert had deliberately kept information from her—information that might be vital to the war effort. Where were these people even camped? Garreg Mach was a large, sprawling landscape, and while part of it had been transformed into a military camp, the majority of their forces remained along the borders of both the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance, mere numbers to Byleth's untrained eye.

_ Who are you trying to hide from me, Hubert? _

Boyd, a large tuxedo cat with luminous green eyes, slid down her shoulder and chirped at her, looking like a pathetic raccoon begging for more fish. The cats had taken residence in Rhea’s old room, just as Byleth had hoped. Still, the occasional cat would follow her back to her room to provide her company in the only way they knew how: by lying on her person and giving her a sad, soulful gaze every time they felt the slightest bit peckish. Byleth was weak to their charms and had been reprimanded more than once for fattening the local feline population. These days, she left the feeding to Bernadetta who was more than happy to take over.

She picked up Boyd and put him back on her shoulder, where he resumed a liquid shape while Byleth supported his rear. “Let’s see what the others are up to, Mr. B.”

They went to the garden together to pick up the best-smelling carnations of the bunch (according to Mr. B). Byleth had a good feeling about these flowers, though she wasn’t sure why. Letting Boyd settle on her shoulder once more, she made the trek around the courtyard, chatting idly with everyone she passed. She had never been one for conversation during her years as a mercenary, but she knew the value of keeping morale high and playing to people’s interests. Keeping the clients happy was part of the job—more so if that meant getting away with a little defiance here and there. 

“Got a hot date, Professor?” Caspar asked, nodding at the flowers she still held in her free hand. 

“I thought I would brighten Edelgard’s office a little. Add some colour.”

Linhardt chuckled. “Ah. Still in the process of wooing I see. Well, woo away, Professor. Woo away.”

Byleth lifted an eyebrow. She did wonder. . . .

She waved at the boys and watched them go. They looked good together, Caspar’s effervescent warmth balanced by Linhardt’s cooler temperament; opposites coming together to find equilibrium in each other.

She wished she’d been around to watch them grow up.

* * *

She found Hubert lurking in the library, staring at old tomes and writing notes to himself. She locked the double doors behind her and circled Hubert quietly while her feline companion slid off her shoulder to take a nap among a stack of books. 

“Jeritza is the Death Knight, is he not?” Byleth asked, swooping into Hubert’s space, menacing despite the obvious height difference. “Tell me, Hubert, if he is truly one of your allies then why did he kidnap Flayn that day? Had her blood taken? Was that part of the Flame Emperor’s plan?”

“You know as well as I that Lady Edelgard did not approve of Solon’s machinations.” 

“But he and your group were allies, yes? I doubt Jeritza would have followed his orders otherwise. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would obey so blindly.”

Hubert set his book down and straightened his spine, disdain settling on him like a heavy cloak. “What are you implying?”

“Either your lot haven’t been honest with me, or you kept Solon as an ally for a different reason.” Byleth rested her hand on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, drawing Hubert’s eye there. “Is your revolution truly about overthrowing the Church and abolishing the system of oppression founded on Crests and nobility? Or was there something more to all of this?”

Byleth’s skin prickled at the touch of dark energy emanating from Hubert’s still form. “You would accuse my lady of scheming with Those Who Slither in the Dark?”

Byleth stepped away from his space, a half-smile curling on her lips. “So they have a name.”

“What do you want, Professor?”

“Let me in, Hubert. Let me in or take me as your enemy, because I am done being your puppet in all of this.”

Hubert’s expression softened into one of thoughtfulness. “Does Lady Edelgard know that you plan on opposing her should the need arise?”

“That depends. Has she given me a reason to oppose her?" 

Hubert let out an exasperated sigh and withdrew his dominant hand, quelling the rising power inside him. "You’re lucky I’m under express orders not to anger you. You’re too valuable for our morale."

Byleth grinned. "Oh?"

"Don’t push your luck, Professor. I can still make you _disappear_." Hubert beckoned to a nearby table where Boyd watched them with curious eyes. "Have you heard of Volkhard von Arundel?"

* * *

The carnations on her desk and the poetry that accompanied it had brought a blush on Edelgard’s pale complexion. Although she had meetings all day to run, she found herself sitting down for a while, savouring the moment.  _ I did not expect you to be quite the wordsmith, Professor. _ Then again, mercenaries had a terrible reputation for being uncouth savages. Another lesson for her to unlearn, it seemed. 

"Edie, you asked for me?" 

"Ah, Dorothea. Please come in." 

They exchanged mild pleasantries with each other, their conversation made circuitous by the things that they could not say. 

(The years had softened Dorothea. Edelgard wished she could afford to have that luxury.)

“You haven’t been showing up to dinner,” Dorothea said, interrupting Edelgard as she was going through her agenda.

“I’m sorry?”

Dorothea reached for her hand across the desk and squeezed it. “Look, I’m grateful that you’re reaching out, Edie. And I think it’s nice that you’ve been thinking about all of us—even those who still believe in the Goddess. But I’m worried about you.”

“Hubert did say that you and Petra wanted to have dinner with me last week.” Edelgard squeezed back and pulled away. “And for that I must apologize. My mind was on other matters at the time.”

“On the professor you mean.”

“Well, I’m sure she was on everyone’s mind. Coming back and all." Edelgard rolled her eyes when Dorothea simply kept staring, and sighed. "Oh, don’t look so smug, Dorothea. Yes, I’m well aware that my crush on the professor is a poorly-kept secret."

"Not so poorly-kept; I believe Leonie is running a betting pool on who your secret lover is." 

"Well, if it puts everyone’s minds to rest, the answer is no one. I do not  _ have _ a secret lover."

"Tell that to Sylvain. He seems to believe that your hostile glances across the room are your cute attempts at being sultry."

“At him?” Edelgard groaned. “Sometimes I wonder how seriously he takes himself.”

“But what’s this about you not having a secret lover? Because if I recall correctly, those carnations are the very same carnations that our lovely professor was carrying around this morning.”

“She’s just being nice.”

“Where are  _ my _ carnations then hmm?” 

“Even if Byleth were to show an interest in me, now is hardly the right time to start anything.”

“Is that right?” Dorothea stood up when they heard someone knocking by the door—probably Edelgard’s next appointment. “If you ask me, Edie, now is the best time. You might not have tomorrow.” 

Edelgard did not like the way Dorothea’s words struck close to her heart. She had given up on the professor after all. Even if they could come to an understanding now, she worried that—that it wouldn’t be the same, that Byleth’s affections would be nothing but an elaborate hoax to keep the Flame Emperor from veering from her righteous path. She wasn’t blind. She could see the way Byleth looked at her.

She let out a shuddering breath and put on a smile. There was still work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boyd the cat is based on a Vancouver-based cat, Mr. Pirate, and his veterinarian father. The story of how he was fostered can be found on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZOijgue5wk). 
> 
> it's adorable af


	5. love is the answer, at least for most of the questions in my heart

If nightmares were habit-forming then Byleth was well on her way to forming this one.

She woke to sweat clinging on her skin and momentary panic at the dark that had twisted the shape of her bedroom and made her feel like she was trapped somewhere unfamiliar—somewhere that felt more like a prison than a home. She tumbled out of bed, her sheets preventing her from moving upright. For a moment, she laid on the ground, breathing harshly, trying to rearrange her memories into some semblance of chronological order while the world spun around her.

She found, to her horror, that she couldn’t remember certain things. Vague visions of yesterday’s work hovered over her, just out of reach like concepts she had no words for but could make out broadly with some furious gesticulating. She crawled out of her cocoon and wrenched the door open, letting the cool night air press against her skin.

Seiros’s _ fucking _ tits. She just wanted a good night’s rest for fuck’s sake. What was wrong with her?

She kept her grip on the doorknob until she felt that she was on stable ground once more, her eyesight no longer swimming. Once she was sure she could move again, she slammed the door shut and rifled among her things, changing into school-regulated gym wear that the Black Eagle house had collectively gifted her on her birthday five years ago. They were a little loose on the hips, but they would do. After a series of stretches, she set her pace at a brisk jog, going down towards the fish pond and around the stables, taking the long, winding scenic route around the monastery, the beat of her boots against the hard-packed ground a soothing rhythm to her ears.

By her second circuit around the monastery, she had acquired a shadow, following her at a distance.

"You can run beside me, you know."

Her invitation was met with a flash of maroon hair glinting against strands of liquid sunlight filtering among the trees. Petra landed with cat-like ease and waved shyly. "Professor. I did not mean to be a disturbance to you."

"You can disturb me just fine, Petra," Byleth said, gently correcting her. She twisted her torso and did some stretches in place while sweat slid down her neck, skin cooling in the crisp morning air. "I see you’re up early."

"I was looking for pretty flowers," Petra admitted, her cheeks darkening with embarrassment. "I wanted to find ones that reminded me of home."

"I imagine you’ve looked at a book?"

"Yes. Linhardt was most helpful."

Byleth nodded and began to jog once more. "We can always look into gardening if you want to grow flowers in the long-term."

"Oh, that would be most lovely.” After a beat of silence, Petra added, “I heard you brought Lady Edelgard flowers.”

“Yes. I hope she liked them. I wasn’t sure what her favourite is.”

“Really?”

“. . . I forgot. I-It’s been five years.” Byleth glanced at Petra and then ahead. “Are _ you _ planning on getting her flowers? I can see the appeal of personalized gifts, but I must warn you, I’m the kind who fights for what she wants.”

“So Lady Edelgard is someone you are wanting?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you?”

Petra shook her head. “The elders prefer I marry below my station. I do not think they would be approving of such a union.”

“The elders can go to damnation. What about you? What do you prefer?”

“It sounds to me like you are trying to change my mind about the emperor.”

“Maybe I just want a worthy rival,” Byleth said in an airy tone. They bumped shoulders and shared grins, skirting around a large ironwood tree overhung with knobby branches. “So, Edelgard?”

“She is good. But sometimes I think she is too far up in the clouds. I am of the land and she is of the sky. I would”—Petra paused to watch her steps as she manoeuvred around the heavy foliage—“I would walk side by side with someone. That is what I prefer.”

“A partner.”

“Yes. And someone who is interested in my culture. If Lady Edelgard succeeds in her grand conquest, Brigid will just be another place for her to govern. I must insist that we keep our sovereign to ourselves. Sovereignty? Bah, your words could use a trim.”

Byleth sighed dramatically. “And we are all the more fools for using it." She caught Petra smiling at her and winked. "I would love to learn your language sometime, Petra.”

Delighted, Petra turned around and slowed a little to jog backwards with Byleth. “Ah, are you trying to fall for me, Professor? I’m afraid I must be saying no. I would not want to go to war with the emperor over you.”

* * *

Byleth didn’t think it would take so much out of her, but haggling with the sharp-tongued shopkeeper for some writing utensils and a sturdy journal proved to be more trouble than it was worth. If not for Ashe’s serendipitous interference, Byleth might have been tempted to exert some of her authority—or strangle the redhead into submission. At least the other merchants were more amicable when it came to selling their wares.

She returned to her quarters, silently grateful that someone had been thoughtful enough to keep her belongings and her coin safe in the five years that she had been gone. She had built up quite the savings before the war and, although Edelgard was generous with financing her, she liked having some independence from the imperial army. All friendly joking aside, Edelgard was not someone she wanted to take lightly. If she was going to pursue Edelgard—and she meant to—then she would need to walk side by side with her, as _ her _ equal.

_And what of Arundel? _ _Will he get retribution for what he’s done? Or do you mean to lie down like a good dog and pretend that he’s done nothing wrong? _

Her eyes lingered on where Sothis used to stand and turned away, hating the uncertainty that gnawed at her stomach, at the traitorous thoughts that dogged her still. She had made her choice.

Oh the old scheme: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

She understood Hubert’s rationale of course. They couldn’t afford a three-pronged war, not when so many people had put their lives in Edelgard’s hands. And while Byleth did not remember her, she recognized Edelgard’s desire to protect these people and cauterize the corruption that had been growing rampant in the years preceding her coronation. Edelgard was a visionary. Byleth didn’t need to have known her long to see that herself.

Which was really what made Edelgard so fascinating. Byleth could admire the steel in her spine—her unflinching resolve to see things through. But there was still a softness in her gaze that spoke of things that she hid. Things that she regretted. A sorrow that Byleth wanted so badly to chase away.

She also understood the unique situation that Edelgard was in. Born into power, a responsibility to both the nobles and the common folk. . . .

Edelgard had a lot to live up to if she wanted to prove that she was just as invested with helping the poor as she was with helping the very people whose lives had been made better by the Crests they bore. Sure, it wasn’t all that great for these fine noble folk, but their tragedy seemed self-inflicted by their blood status and their insatiable appetite for power. It wasn’t merely a matter of overthrowing the Church and destroying Those Who Slither in the Dark completely. Edelgard would have to enact change on a national scale that would take a lifetime’s work to achieve. Byleth wanted to be there by her side—to spend that lifetime together, working towards a better future.

And wasn’t that strange? That she should feel so strongly for a woman she hardly knew? A woman who could very well be working towards other goals unknown to her?

Byleth remembered the first time they met, post-coma. Edelgard had looked so lovely and severe in her red dress and her twin horns. She had looked at Byleth with concern, her expression so soft that Byleth ached to touch her, to smoothen her crinkled brow, and put a smile on her face. In fact, she had a face that could put other gods to shame. That certainly explained Byleth’s irreverence when it came the Church of Seiros; Edelgard was the only goddess worthy of her worship.

She chuckled to herself. Well, that would certainly make for an interesting first entry in her journal now that she had resolved to keep track of her memories. It felt absolutely juvenile to talk about her feelings, sappy as they are, but it also felt like the right thing to do. How else could she keep track of her intangible loyalties? How else could she prove that Edelgard was truly the visionary that their world needed?

She could leave out the poetry at least. Those would better serve her on Edelgard’s desk with some flowers to set the mood.

Damn, she was such a hopeless romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why isnt petra a female romanceable, u cowards @ intelligent systems
> 
> (although knowing me, i'd probably just romance edie again and again if i could; i follow the church of edelgod after all)


	6. take my fear and subdue it in a world of make-believe

Byleth must have taken lessons from Hubert in the art of lurking. Edelgard saw her everywhere she looked, carrying books and paperstuff around, making conversation with former students, and bringing Edelgard packed lunches when she forgot the time—which was more often than she liked to admit. She had the look of mischief about her, and it made Edelgard’s stomach flutter uncomfortably.

She resolved to bury herself in work. There was always something to do.

Something that Garreg Mach Monastery didn’t bother to teach its students: war was expensive to run. If not for Edelgard’s lessons on the nobility and their various trades, they would have been destitute their first year of waging war. She courted firstborn sons who had been set aside because they were Crestless, as well as villages rich with bounty, who were interested in gaining autonomy from their corrupt administrators. There were privateers bearing the flag of the Fire Emperor, roaming along the Adrestian sea, capturing pirates and their treasure, much to the relief of their merchant fleets. And of course, the rich pigs that the former Prime Minister had fattened with coin and promises of an empire divided under their rule. Edelgard had taken great pleasure in stripping them of their rank and home.

She was making preparations to hand off most of the financial work to Ashe, who was more than happy to stay behind and look after their war coffers despite Hubert’s protests regarding his former life as a thief. He had a good head for numbers, and he was well-known and respected among the merchants. More importantly, he was a commoner who had proven himself capable. She could not possibly make her dream of a merit-based government a reality if she did not start making changes now. After all, now was the best time to weed out dissidents among her people.

“Do you always look so grim while you’re making plans?”

“If you’ve come here to tell me to lighten up, Ferdinand, I’m afraid you’re all out of luck.” She set down her pen and rolled up the sheafs of parchment she’d been working on after watching the ink dry to her satisfaction. He was impeccably dressed as ever, though he had taken to wearing a scholar’s knot lately, keeping the mess of orange-gold hair out of his eyes. She tore her gaze away and took a sip of the tea Hubert had left for her hours ago. It was cold and bitter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked archly.

He gave her a boyish grin and leaned into her desk, crinkling some of the papers she still had to go through. “Come now, Your Majesty. You’ve been cooped up in this desk for so long, I have to wonder if you still have legs on you!”

Oh, Ferdinand. “Considering we are at war, I certainly hope you do not repeat such offensive language among our peers. One would think someone would have taught you tact by now. Isn’t that part of your _noble_ training?”

He flinched and pulled away, to Edelgard’s relief. He really did not think sometimes. “I apologize. That was uncouth of me to say.”

Edelgard gave him a sympathetic look. “We must all strive to be better. Your nobility does not excuse you of that.”

“So Dorothea tells me,” said Ferdinand. Abashed, he added, “I was wondering if you’d like to do some sparring with me. We won’t have as much time once we march for Myrddin, and I think the exercise would be good for you.” He laughed awkwardly. “Not that I was implying anything by it. I just mean—you know, it’s good to not think about things so much sometimes.”

“You’re one of the most eloquent people I know, and yet, every time we’ve talked after I so thoroughly thrashed you, you’ve been acting a little tongue-tied around me.”

“What can I say? Everyone feels a little inadequate when they’re around you, Your Majesty.”

She felt Byleth’s shadow loom over her, and squared her shoulders, banishing Byleth from her mind. “We are all mere mortals, Ferdinand. We've just been tasked to slay gods.”

“Well then. We have to prepare appropriately if we must slay the gods themselves.”

Edelgard shrugged off her cloak and hung it over her chair. “When you've put it that way, how can I deny you the pleasure of a good fight?”

* * *

Though both of them had trained with the sword, only Ferdinand had kept to the discipline in the intervening years prior to Byleth’s return. Edelgard had returned to her weapon of choice and had tamed a wyvern that suited her temperament well. It had made her a powerhouse in battle, though it did make training significantly harder. She had very few opponents who wanted to challenge her in the air.

Within the four walls of the training ground, the packed earth underneath her feet felt level. She met Ferdinand’s blade in an upward swing and slid backwards into a guard, balancing on the balls of her feet. She swung downwards, relearning the natural momentum of her sword while she kept up her offensive. Ferdinand had the upper hand when it came to technical handling, but he did not have her speed nor strength. This was how they fought: their blades lashing out in measured beats as they danced in and out of reach.

Edelgard enjoyed the sound of metal scraping against metal, the weight of the gorget along her neck, and the concentration that was required of her. In single combat, you did not have the luxury to think beyond your next three steps: the ground that you were both covering, the length of your reach and his, and the tempo of attack and retreat. To do so would be folly. Everything crystallized into a single moment, and in that moment, Edelgard _lived_.

When she found her stride at last, Ferdinand could do nothing but block and parry, giving ground to the harsh rhythm of her attacks. You could not hope to stop the relentless—and Edelgard was a force of nature, regardless of which blade she wielded.

“Feeling better?” Ferdinand huffed after locking their blades together, sweat sliding down a bruised cheek.

“Much,” Edelgard agreed and disengaged, sliding the longsword back into its sheathe. She looked as bruised and battered as he felt, but remained serenely still, the perspiration on her brow his only evidence that she had felt some measure of strain at all.

He threw her a towel and drank heavily from a waterskin, water dripping from his cheeks. “So now that I've sufficiently worn you down—“

“Only you, Ferdinand.” Edelgard sighed.

“—won't you tell good old Ferdie what troubles you?”

Edelgard took off her gorget and began to wipe down their equipment with a cleaning cloth spelled for preservation. “Judith von Daphnel.”

“Ahh, lady troubles.” He nodded sagely. “What is it about Judith von Daphnel that has caught your eye?”

Edelgard slung a towel over her shoulder and returned the sword among the other practice weapons. She noted the casual disarray of some of the less used weapons and beckoned for Ferdinand to follow her outside. “Walk with me, von Aegir.”

“I, of course, know who Judith von Daphnel is,” he added hastily, falling in step with her. “I was merely teasing you.”

“Did any of the others put you up to this?”

His ensuing silence was answer enough.

“I’m sure you mean well, Ferdinand, but there is no need for you to worry so much on my behalf. I can take care of myself.”

“For how long?” Ferdinand demanded. “Because it looks to me like you are running yourself ragged with work.”

“That’s hardly fair. There’s a lot of work to be done after all.”

“Forgive me if I don’t see it that way, Your Majesty.” Ferdinand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the gardens where the nobles often loitered when they were free from their duties. “You know as well as I that you can delegate most of that work to your subordinates. What are you trying to run away from?”

She pushed him away and growled, “That is none of your business!”

“If it concerns your health and mental well-being then it concerns the bloody Empire, Your Majesty. You must know that when you accepted the crown.”

“What? That you must hound me like this?” Edelgard hissed, shoulders shaking with rage. "That you must act like I'm a child incapable of looking after herself?"

They moved towards an enclosed space, away from prying ears, stepping around each other like agitated predators sizing the competition. “I mean only that you must consider your self-worth.” Ferdinand rubbed the black and purpling bruise on his cheek and looked down. “Gods, but you really are vicious. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if not”—he grimaced and shook his head—“never mind. I have said too much already.” He turned to leave when Edelgard caught his cloak and stopped him.

“Say it, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand twisted around and met Edelgard’s unflinching gaze. “I wonder what would have happened if Byleth had not returned. She makes you better, Edelgard. Stop pushing her away.”

He left her to her thoughts which fluttered around her, her anxiety stretching across her vision like the wingspan of a carrion bird, its caw a faint warning to her crumbling resolve. To have her stand by Edelgard's side once more . . . .

But she had made a promise, and she intended to keep it. Byleth should not have to suffer for her sake. She must bear this hurt alone.

The Empire was watching after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (who knew the sword-fighting course i took years ago would come in handy)
> 
> edie is a dumb dumb pls protect her


	7. i can feel it in my bones like a dream ready to explode

For all their intricate schemes, Edelgard's plan to capture the bridge was surprisingly straightforward. By sundown, it was theirs and Judith von Daphnel was no more.

Byleth wasn't sure if she should grieve. Here was where her memory had failed her; here was where she could have made a choice. Judith von Daphnel had been a woman of honour, steadfast in her duty. Byleth, with her memories dissipating on a whim, felt like she had cheated the old general out of a proper fight. 

(And wasn't she a cheat, whose wounds could close in a blink of an eye, Sothis’s divinity radiating from her as she turned back the wheel of time to manoeuvre out of harm’s way and strike into the enemy’s vulnerable defenses?)

She was hasty to return to her tent, eager to write the day’s events while her memory was still fresh. After-images of memories no longer true, no longer part of the stream of time, hovered along the edges of her vision, participating in the heady fugue that threatened to overwhelm her.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Across her desk, Jeralt’s ghost watched her, his warm brown eyes pained, miserable with some quiet grief. Sometimes that was all she remembered: his eyes. Maybe it wasn't Jeralt’s ghost at all who haunted her, but an imposter with Jeralt’s grief painted in those eyes.

Sometimes all she had left were approximations. 

Her writing slowed when her hand began to cramp. Outside, she could hear revelry among the soldiers, mingled with relief. They would invite her out soon, distract her with some celebratory drinks and tales of prowess told across the flickering campfire. They were a good lot—loyal soldiers who accepted Edelgard’s command with little hesitation, kind when they were allowed to be, and quick to welcome strangers among their ranks. 

She did not look forward to mingling with them.

She tucked the journal underneath an arm and slipped outside, hiding by the shadows of the pavilion tent. She would join them later, but for now she needed time to recall her memories. It would not do to face them unprepared.

She found Ferdinand’s finicky brute of a horse and mounted the young colt, directing him beyond the picket of horses that lined the camp’s outer walls. With the nudge of a knee, she set off at a jaunty trot, careful to steer clear of the larger footpath where their sentries would be taking their patrol at this late hour. 

A large shadow wheeled overhead, causing the horse to whinny in fear. Byleth craned her neck and caught a glimpse of white atop the majestic, obsidian wyvern flying above her. She raised a hand in greeting and followed the wyvern east, to a clearing that jutted over most of their camp which glowed like faint fireflies in the distance. When she dismounted, Ferdinand’s steed fled, happy to return to his master’s side. “Your Majesty.”

“Professor.”

She offered Edelgard a hand as the younger woman hopped off the great beast, patting its flank fondly. When she caught Byleth looking, she smiled. “Ozymandias was growing restless. I took him for a few circuits around the camp when I caught you sneaking away.”

“I commend you on your sharp vision.” 

Edelgard pressed a cheek against Ozymandias’s smooth, dry neck and chuckled. “It was mostly by accident that I saw you leaving.”

“A happy accident then.” Byleth’s fingers brushed over some errant scuff marks along the spine of her journal and wished she had brought a satchel. 

“Where you hoping to find a quiet place to read?” Edelgard asked.

She hesitated before shaking her head. “I have discovered an alarming development with regards to my memory loss. It seems that from time to time, I forget details that I was able to recall previously.”

Edelgard frowned and stepped forward. “Has my uncle tried something? Oh, don’t look so surprised, Professor. Hubert told me you were prying into our affairs.”

“Are they mine now as well?” Byleth offered a hand for Ozymandias to smell and rubbed his ridged nostril, causing the large wyvern to rumble pleasantly. She caught Edelgard’s frown and sighed. “No. I believe this was caused by the goddess that slumbers inside me.”

“Is her presence causing you to forget?”

_No,_ Byleth wanted to say, but the secret of her Divine powers lay heavy on her tongue. She shrugged instead. “Perhaps. I cannot tell for certain. I only know that in my gut, the goddess must be involved somehow.”

“Then we will work towards eradicating her together.”

Her words struck Byleth with such a force that she found herself shortening the distance between them, hands reaching for the gentle curve of Edelgard’s neck. She felt something pulse underneath her palm and pressed a curious ear against Edelgard’s collarbone. It felt like she had captured the trembling boom of thunder underneath her, loud and tumultuous. 

“Professor?” Edelgard asked, her voice breathy. 

Byleth pressed a dry kiss on that quivering pulse and pulled away. Her body was greedy for that comforting warmth, but she could not possibly overstep her boundaries a second time, not when Edelgard looked at her _just so_. She would not break the rules of courtship just for a glimpse of this vulnerable side of Edelgard’s. The Emperor deserved better than being ravished against her wyvern, for fuck’s sake.

She picked up the journal by her feet and returned her attention to the camp below them. “Please excuse my behaviour, Your Majesty.” 

“That would imply that you regret your behaviour.”

“I regret only that I did not ask your permission before I kissed you.”

Edelgard cleared her throat. “Then you are excused. Did you need a ride back? I'm afraid your horse has deserted you.”

Byleth gave her a sideways glance. She looked rather dashing in the wan moonlight like a warrior-goddess of old. She had foregone the usual attire of a wyvern rider for the practical leathers of a scout, the red of her cloak adding weight to her regal bearing. The tight fit of her leather cuirass over flared hips made Byleth’s stomach twist uncomfortably, and that cloak made Byleth want to pull her into a searing, maddening kiss. She pulled her gaze away and chased off thoughts of running her hands along Edelgard's waist and pressing their bodies close together once more.

“I'm sure I can find my way back, Your Majesty, but thank you all the same. I appreciate the offer.”

“I will leave you to your book then. Good night, Professor.”

“Good night, Edelgard.”

She listened to the leathery flap of Ozymandias’s wings and cracked her journal open. Summoning some light to her fingertips, Byleth began to read.

* * *

The easy camaraderie around the campfire was nostalgic for Petra, who had grown up sitting on the lap of her elders, listening to their matriarchs weave awe-inspiring stories of heroism and woe, the cadence of their joined voices a striking melody that had embedded itself deep in her heart. This was one of the times when she could feel the concept of _community_ thoroughly suffused in her bones, warming her all over.

It helped that she had wonderful company. Dorothea was sitting next to her, wearing a Brigid-style braid, fingers intertwined with hers. She was giving Petra that smile that she found particularly captivating, lips curled, mouth slightly parted. It was a smile that spoke of mischief but also of delight. Directed at Petra, it made her hyper aware of their thighs brushing against each, and Dorothea’s solid weight against her.

“You were brilliant today,” Dorothea murmured, eyes shining in the flickering light. 

Petra’s face heated up at the reminder. She and her battalion had been especially vicious in driving back the foot soldiers that Daphnel had sent towards them while they secured one of the bridge’s smaller exits to prevent backup from arriving. Since much of the firepower came from Dorothea’s unit which covered that area specifically, Petra was especially motivated to keep them safe. The fact that they were friends certainly played a factor—a very large factor, perhaps the largest. 

Petra hid her face with both hands, too embarrassed to face Dorothea properly. She was rewarded with a peal of laughter, honey-sweet and rich with affection. “You are a treasure, Petra Macneary.” 

_And you are life itself,_ Petra thought, though the words tasted insubstantial. How could you express the beauty of life in every living thing—that sacred vitality that urges growth, defies cultivation, celebrates the wildness of things that pulse within both creatures big and small? How do you describe colours in multitudes, shades that you can only capture within the breath of a moment, lost to the mutability of memory? 

Oh, but their wretched language felt so limited to Petra, with its many rules like countless rapid rivers that derail the earnest into entering shifting labyrinths, the landscape made all the more bizarre by the people who govern it. Better to hold her tongue. 

When she dared to look at Dorothea again, she saw that her companion’s attention had shifted elsewhere. Petra followed her gaze towards Edelgard, who was speaking with Hubert, holding tightly to her cloak, the dancing firelight of a nearby campfire concealing her expression in the darkness. Though their voices were quiet, it was clear that Edelgard was unhappy and the lack of Byleth’s presence made Petra wonder.

She turned to look at Dorothea and saw the calculating gleam in her eye. Petra nudged her knee and took her hand once more. “I think it would be best if you are waiting before trying anything, Dorothea. Let her simmer. Cool off? Your cooking metaphors make little sense to me.”

“Why, did you think I was up to something?” Dorothea asked innocently.

“Your face is revealing it all to me.” Petra grinned. “It is like reading a palm. Or a book?”

Dorothea laughed. “Is that right?” Soft fingertips pressed gently against her jaw, her thumb brushing against Petra’s lips. “Why don't I read your face this time hmm?”

“What do you see?” whispered Petra.

“That you'd very much like to kiss me.”

“And what will you do about that?”

Dorothea leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. “How could I deny such a request?” she asked when they parted.

Petra’s eyes had darkened considerably with desire. “That is hardly a kiss, Dorothea.”

“I suppose I'll have to make it up to you.”

“Please do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> petra pls


	8. do you walk in the shadow of men who sold their lives to a dream

Edelgard had long since resigned herself to the life of an avenger. This was all for her family, after all—for the blood that others had dared spill in the name of creating a perfect avatar that bore the Crest of Flames.

Later, she would reframe the narrative into something more concrete—a cause that they could mobilize under: eradicate the church, dismantle the system that favoured the Crest-born, and elevate the quality of life of the common folk. 

(Sometimes she wondered if her cause was truly noble; after all, she wanted to set the world on fire so that it might rise from the ashes forever changed.)

This was meant to be her life's work—her penance for being the sole survivor to their dark experimentations. In the future she envisioned for Fódlan, she was an unyielding tyrant, and while her reforms were for the better, she would never be loved by her people. To play to their hearts would be folly. 

She would drag this world kicking and screaming, bloodied and beaten down, into the arms of progress if need be. This is the crux of her resolve, the rationale for her self-crucifixion. 

She yelped at the sudden motion; Ozymandias, sensing his mistress’s miserable mood, sped up from his lazy flight back to the camp and did an exultant barrel roll that had Edelgard gripping hard on his reins.

“Ozy!” she cried. “What was that for?”

He sent them further upwards, through the wet condensation of clouds floating nearby before going for a steep dive that brought them skimming along the top of deciduous trees, into the range of other wyvern scouts who cheered at the sight of their emperor. Their roar of approval made Edelgard bury her face into Ozymandias's neck. “Don't you dare do that again,” she murmured. 

He snorted his disapproval and allowed his mistress to steer them back to their original course. If he did a few more loops along the way, well, who could blame him? After all, he was just enjoying the sun while it lasted.

* * *

They would march again tomorrow, once the imperial army’s larger, slower troops with their engines of war converged on the bridge, where they would leave it secured under Alois’s command. Edelgard spent most of the day in her pavilion tent, overseeing her many clerks who scribbled away, going through reams of paper to relay orders and maintain an inventory of things. Such was the tediousness of war. 

She was, admittedly, avoiding certain people—the press of Byleth’s lips against her neck was still fresh in her mind—and so she resolved to hide herself among her clerks who knew better than to ask about her love life.

The scent of meat hung heavy in the air, sharp and earthy with fragrant spices that reminded Edelgard of the monastery that had been her second home in the last five years. Outside, the sky had purpled and bloomed into darker, cooler colours signalling the approaching night. From where she held court, she could see that her clerks and accountants were packing up, stacking their things in neat piles before waving their goodbyes at her. Soon, they would join their friends among one of the many fire pits where the evening meal would be served. 

It was her cue to slip away again, to don on the leathers of a scout and take a turn patrolling the perimeter. No one would think twice to look for her on foot, not after she had already swept the area earlier on her wyvern. Unfortunately for Edelgard, a tall willowy figure waited for her by her personal tent, leaning against one of the tent poles, relaxed but alert.

“Did you wait for me long, Petra?” Edelgard asked, beckoning for the Brigid warrior to follow her in her tent.

“I am knowing your schedule in advance. Hubert told me,” said Petra, sitting on the thin pillow across from Edelgard. “He is hard to question. You have a very slippery ally.”

“I would hope so. He does guard my secrets after all.”

“Then he is knowing your weaknesses.”

Edelgard arched an eyebrow, amused. “I suppose he does. Were you planning to start a coup?”

Petra waved her hand and chuckled. “No, no. I am glad. It means someone is watching your weaknesses. Your”—she snapped her finger, searching for the right word”—your back. It is good to have people looking after your weaknesses. Makes you stronger.”

Edelgard smiled and glanced at her tent flap nervously. “You’re right, of course. You all make me stronger.” She hesitated until finally her impatience won out. “Is there something I can do for you, Petra? Only, I have other duties, you understand.”

“Your only duty is to relax,” Petra said firmly. “We are worrying that you are too heavy.”

“Are you calling me fat, Macneary?” 

“Ahh! No, no. I mean heavy. Like, you have too much on you. O-on your plate maybe?” Petra sighed and hit the hard ground next to her, lips thinning in frustration. “I do not mean your habits of eating. It is fine if you eat big. I mean you are carrying a lot. Burdened with responsibility when you could ask your friends to help you with them. We want to carry you. Lift you up.” She patted her chest proudly and beamed at Edelgard. “This is why I am here.”

“I appreciate the offer, Petra, but truly I am fine.”

“It is no secret among the camp that you are avoiding the professor,” Petra said, her tone gentle, as if urging a fawn to come out of hiding. “She cares for you very much. She even tried to convince me that you are worthy of my affection. It is almost as if she is wanting everyone to love you the way she loves you.” Petra shook her head and chuckled. “She will have to fight everyone for your attention. That is not practical of her. But now she knows I will not get in between you two. It will be like being between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I would be squished like a bug.”

“No.” Edelgard knew that Petra meant well, but Petra’s words pressed heavily against her chest, making it harder for her to breathe. She could taste the trepidation in her tongue and see out of the corner of her eye Byleth’s long, light green hair. She wished she could forget the heat of Byleth’s touch or the way it made her body throb uncomfortably. She wished she could forget Byleth the way Byleth had forgotten her. “She could not possibly love me.”

Petra frowned. “I would know if the professor is lying to me.”

“And how can you possibly be certain?” Edelgard snapped, anger warming her neck and cheeks. “Has she confided in you? Revealed to you her innermost thoughts? Her feelings?” She shuddered and wiped away an errant tear with the palm of her hand. “She is so hard to read. Sometimes I feel like I do not know her at all.”

Petra pressed cool hands on the skin around her neck and brought their foreheads together. “Edie,” she murmured, falling back on the familiar nickname Dorothea liked to use. “Why do you think she is hard to read?”

Edelgard laughed wetly. “She reveals so little of herself to others. Sometimes when I—“ she stopped herself sharply, not wanting to admit how often she watched Byleth from afar. “Worst of all is that she doesn't remember me. Not all of me at least. Just the unsavoury parts that I've had to do for the sake of winning this war. How can she possibly follow me, let alone love me, when the only thing she remembers is that I was responsible for her father's death?”

“What do you mean?” asked Petra. “How come she does not remember you?”

“Only a few people know because we didn't want to cause a mass panic,” Edelgard admitted, inhaling Petra’s soothing scent—mild soap mixing cleanly with tanned leather. She reached for Petra’s wrists and pulled away a little. “Byleth fell into a coma that lasted for five years, and we believe that my uncle had tried to cast a spell on her to forget her loyalties to us.”

“She is very good liar then?”

“The professors and Linhardt managed to heal her, but there are gaps still and,” Edelgard hesitated. 

“And?” Petra asked. “She is not dying, is she?”

“No. But she told me recently that some of her memories are fracturing again. What if she forgets me even more? What will be left of us? Of this war?”

(And of course, the unspoken words: _I cannot imagine leading the imperial army without her by my side._)

“Have you tried asking her if she needs help?”

“I-I couldn't possibly. And anyway, she already knows that I am willing to do whatever it takes to help her.”

Petra patted her cheek and stood up, giving her a soft smile. “Be open with her. Let her get to know you again. Is there not a saying that goes, ‘lead by example’?” 

“I don't really think that applies—“

Petra lifted an eyebrow, mimicking Edelgard's patrician amusement earlier. The young emperor faltered. “Talking solves problems, even if the language is frustrating and sometimes lacking.”

“Is it truly that easy?”

“Talking?” Petra asked. The irony was not lost on Edelgard, who flushed and looked away. “No. That is why it is worth trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> petra is so good ;A; petra is life


	9. and like the dawn you broke the dark

The steady beat of boots on the ground shook Byleth’s bones. She pulled her cloak closer and ignored the rain that had fallen on her back in rivulets. The skywatch had assured them that the rain would let up by midday, though it was hardly reassuring when Byleth knew that they had more of this to look forward to in the coming days.

She soldiered on, falling into the familiar rhythm that she had learned as a child, marching with her father’s company. It was soothing in a way, to be reminded of the only family she had ever known. With every touch of divinity in her, the memories that she held dear seemed to slip away from her grasp like wisps of wind—immaterial, intangible. 

She allowed her body to mimic the pace of the soldiers by her side and sunk inwards into a deep meditation, the inhale and exhale of her breath her only anchor to the outside world. She stepped into the empty throne room, examining the way the darkness seemed to engulf everything beyond her vision. Was this Sothis’s domain? she wondered. It certainly looked like it. 

Byleth reached for the pool of power underneath her breastbone and let it spill from her fingertips like mage light. She was no scholar like Linhardt, and her knowledge of medicine was more applicable in the short-term compared to the cures that Professor Manuela could concoct. Still, something like instinct told her that this was the right thing to do, the sensible thing to do in fact, if she wanted to illuminate the parts of her mind that had long since been thrown in the darkness of Sothis’s domain. She formed the light into a sword, almost like a duplicate to the Sword of the Creator, and in between breaths she plunged the blade into the darkness and let her power spill forth. 

Memories of the last few days bled into her consciousness from the wound that she had created, false-memories that she recalled enduring while she fought for her life, dancing in and out of Judith von Daphnel’s reach. She felt von Daphnel’s blade pierce her shoulder, bite into her leg, an errant arrow slicing past an arm guard, and the blunt side of an axe rattling her head in quick succession. She twirled, raising her blade to shield herself from another ghost blow. By the Goddess. What had she released?

She lost herself in the staccato rhythm set out by the enemy that pursued her in her mind’s eye, taking the form of various enemies she had fought in the past: von Daphnel, the mages that accompanied her, the pair of wyvern riders she’d had to dodge to get into the enemy’s main defences . . . . They bled into each other, like blood mixing with the water, flowing into one shape and then another, unable to maintain a single form. Eventually, the blood-soaked water twisted around her into a violent eddy, glimpses of her past overshadowed by the pain that now wracked her body.

Her body continued to move forward despite the maelstrom that she had conjured from within, buffeting her. With mechanical grace, she stepped forward, blood dripping from wounds that opened and closed within seconds, the pain of their restitching causing her to tremble between steps. Eventually, like a puppet cut from its strings, she fell into the muddied ground, knees first, her face hitting the hard-packed earth in a loud thump. Shouts of alarm caused the large, serpentine length of soldiers and supply trains to grind to a halt while those nearby converged around her, worry marring their normally stoic faces.

In her mind, the darkness had recovered from its injury and had enveloped everything around it in several layers of syrupy stygian black. Byleth suffocated in that heavy darkness and knew no more.

* * *

When Byleth came to, it was to the sight of purple-bruised light filtering through her tent while outside, shadows argued on her behalf. She grimaced at the feel of cotton and sawdust lining her mouth and the taste of bitter medicine lingering still. Sitting up, the bandages wrapped around her torso strained from the sudden movement, rubbing against bruises that were not there before. She clutched the sides of her lumpy cot and pressed her warm forehead against the rough linen that covered her knees. Around her, the world spun.

She wanted to scream her frustrations out loud and claw through her spine, hoping to find the answers buried there. Where were they—her memories? She found snippets here and there, like the sound of Jeralt’s coarse laughter, the sound of drumbeats signalling the start of yesterday's march, the taste of rain sliding across her cheeks, the horse-smell she'd come to associate with her father’s things, the misery etched in Edelgard's face, and the pain that followed. Oh the pain that followed. It slithered down her throat and wriggled in her chest like a fish hook seeking entrance. But where to? What could she possibly wretch out of her insides that would make the pain stop? 

Slowly, she returned to her cot, curling on her side and ignoring her protesting ribs. She felt more than saw a figure stepping into her tent, sitting by her side, cool fingers touching her forehead gently while they brushed away some of the hair that had fallen across her eyes. “You gave me quite the fright there,” Edelgard murmured. She pulled the blanket further up and sat simply. Quietly. Byleth counted the rise and fall of her chest until the numbers fled from her mind.

“I'm sorry,” Byleth said at last, hating the silence between them: the unspoken gap that stretched endlessly at times, reminding Byleth of her failure to reach out, reminding her of her loss. “I'm sorry,” she said again, hating how empty her apology sounded. How do you put weight into something that feels like a bottomless pit? How do you fill up a void? 

Her memories felt as empty as the spaces between the stars, as vast and terrifying. 

“Why are you sorry?” asked Edelgard in that gentle tone that she seemed to reserve for Byleth’s ears and Byleth’s ears alone. Those fingers returned to sift through Byleth’s hair, digging into her scalp in a way that felt too intimate to be a gesture between friends. “I heard you collapsed earlier from exhaustion.”

Byleth laughed and felt her chest flare with pain. Gods, _just fucking kill me already._ But the gods were busy with their games of chance and slaughter. And the ones who did intervene seemed eager to fill empty vessels like Byleth. “I tried to get rid of the goddess shadowing my mind,” she said, voice rough from disuse. “I”—she grimaced and accepted a drink from the waterskin—“Sothis gave me the power to rewind time. Not much, but enough to make a difference. When I tried to break her hold over me, my body remembered the wounds that I had received in alternate realities. Dead realities.”

Her confession hung in the air. Outside, Hubert’s looming stature froze. He had heard it as clearly as Edelgard had. 

Byleth closed her eyes, weariness settling in her bones. Beside her, Edelgard stirred. “You could not have told me sooner?” 

“And worry you further? You bear too much already, Your Majesty.” 

The reminder stung them both: Edelgard, who had been diagnosed with overwork, and Byleth, who could not distinguish the Emperor from her friend—it rent the air between them like a lightning strike. 

“I am worried now,” Edelgard pointed out. “If not me, at least tell _someone._ Linhardt maybe, or Professor Manuela. Don't you dare compromise your health for my sake.”

Byleth met her hard gaze with tired eyes. “You know, I could never tell where you stand when it comes to me. Do you love me as a friend, as a comrade, or something more?” 

“Professor, this isn't the time—“

“When then?” Byleth cried, desperation racing along her veins like wildfire. “Because I don't know if I'll have tomorrow. I don't know if I'll wake up someday with my memories gone forever, gone in such a way that even rewinding time could not bring them back.”

“You don't even remember me!”

“But my body does,” Byleth snapped and almost fell off her cot in a violent rage. “I could feel your touch like heated imprints on my skin. Whenever you're around all I can think of is you, all I can feel is your presence overshadowing everything else. Around you I can breathe easier, relax from the burdens of the day, and feel so gloriously in the moment that I have no need for the past that dogs me still. I don't need memories of you to know how I feel about you.”

“Even after everything that I've done?” Edelgard asked softly, feeling unsteady on stable ground.

“What you've done is steal my heart. Nothing more.”

“That's fucking garbage,” Edelgard growled, surprising them both. She was not one for coarse language after all. “My allies were responsible for your father’s death. My war against the Church stole five years from your life—five years you'll never get back. And _fucking_ Arundel. I should have him killed for what he's done to you.”

“And lose your momentum now?” Byleth pulled herself up, using Edelgard to steady herself, hands on both of her shoulders. “We both know keeping him alive is important to the war effort. Besides, you're not responsible for the choices your allies make.”

Edelgard pressed her forehead against Byleth’s, bony fingers curling around her thin wrists. They both look haggard. “What if I lose you a second time?”

“You won't,” promised Byleth. “I will fight tooth and nail to remember you. I will fight to keep you in my mind. Always.”

“I don't mean it like that, Professor. I don't want you to die a meaningless death for me. I would rather you forget me than try this stunt again.”

Byleth laughed harshly. “I would rather die than lose my memory of you a second time.”

With painstaking tenderness, Edelgard pushed Byleth back into her cot, pressing gently wherever she touched. “Then I'm afraid that we are at an impasse.”

Byleth lifted her head lightly to chase Edelgard’s retreating lips. “Edelgard . . . .”

Fingertips brushed along her jaw before pulling away. “Good night, Byleth. I will see you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this counts as talking right?


	10. i have died so many times, but i am still alive

For once, Byleth was too tired to wrestle with the night-terrors that plagued her constantly. She sank into a deep slumber, the events of the last few days drawing over her in a gentle haze. When dawn broke, she woke briefly to Dorothea and Professor Manuela changing her bandages before sleep overtook her again, lulled by the pitter-patter of rain against the tent canvas. The second time she woke, it was to the sound of charcoal scratching against paper and muted activity outside. 

“Why aren't we marching?” Byleth asked and found her throat parched. Edelgard set aside the sketchpad on her lap and helped Byleth to a sitting position while offering her a glass of water. “Edelgard?”

“We didn't want to risk sickness with the rain coming in so hard. Hubert and his people have applied a clever bit of magic on our camp. It's still raining, but it shields us from the worst of it,” explained Edelgard. 

“It certainly had nothing to do with me then,” said Byleth, her tone flat. “I don't need to be babied, Edelgard.” 

“I'm not _trying_ to.” She looked as tired as Byleth felt. “But your disregard for your own life must be addressed, Professor. You cannot continue abusing your power like this.”

“And what would you have me do? Stand in the sidelines while I watch you get hurt? We’re fighting a war, Your Majesty. Casualties are inevitable.”

“Don't you dare pretend that your death will not hurt me, Byleth. In case it hasn't sunk into your thick skull, I've been mad about you since you first saved me all those years ago.” Edelgard huffed at Byleth’s triumphant expression. “Yes, yes. It's clear that you've harboured a death wish since then—something I’ll find idiotic until the end of time itself, I'm sure.”

“But I'm the idiot _you_ like,” Byleth said with a dopey smile.

“Suddenly, I'm having second thoughts.”

“So rude.” Byleth found Edelgard’s hand and slotted their fingers together, smiling brightly. “Tell me again how much you like me.”

“You are such a child sometimes,” Edelgard murmured and leaned down to press a lingering kiss on Byleth’s lips, her warm breath mingling with Byleth’s. It made Byleth’s nerves come alive with a delicious sort of wanting that coaxed her out of her sleepy stupor. With trembling fingers, she used her free hand to curl around Edelgard’s neck and feel that faint thunder underneath her skin once more. And her soft, pliable lips—gods, she could drown in that sensation and know nothing else. 

They exchanged soft, breathy kisses that ignited Byleth’s body and left her skin humming for more. If not for the wretched blanket tangling her legs, she might have drawn Edelgard flushed against her by now, wanting to submit to the baser impulses of her body. As it was, she sensed Edelgard’s discomfort at their position and pulled away, fingers snaring around some loose strands of silvery hair. “I would still die for you.”

“A habit I will beat out of you if I must.”

Byleth hummed, hungrily taking in the details of Edelgard’s face. “Such a violent proposition. Take me to dinner first.”

“It is mid-morning actually. I should bring you breakfast instead.”

“Is dating below Her Majesty’s station?”

“Excuse me? What?” She looked perplexed to Byleth’s perpetual amusement. 

Byleth chuckled and burrowed deep into her blanket. “I was flirting with you.”

“Oh. So when you mentioned dinner you meant—?”

Byleth shrugged. “I was your teacher for a year. I saw my share of awkward teenage flirtations among the students. Dorothea was very good at finding men and women who would take her out for dinner. Presumably so she could find someone she wouldn't tire of in the long-term.” 

Edelgard looked down at her with an unreadable expression that made her chest tighten with want. “Do you think you'll tire of me in the long-term?”

“No. Gods no. You’re it for me.”

“Is that right?”

Byleth gave her a pained half-smile. “Was there ever any doubt?”

And in that silence laid the anxieties they both felt—that Byleth’s affliction would return and rob her of her memories of Edelgard once more. _How can you be so confident?_ Edelgard wanted to ask, just as Byleth thought, _Can you be haunted by a person you barely know?_

* * *

Dorothea had long since made her peace with the fact that she had no love for the war and what it did to the people she had fought alongside with for the past five years. War broke people, fractured loyalties, and stole lives. There was nothing glorious about it, and when Dorothea was feeling unkind, there was nothing good that came of it either. But she understood that Edelgard found it necessary to overturn the system that had rooted itself into their history—a parasite that bled their people dry and made itself plump on others’ misery. Dorothea had experienced firsthand the injustices that Edelgard worked hard to eradicate. She knew the stakes—she just didn't approve of the method. 

It was there, in those quiet moments of defiance, that Dorothea felt guilty for the anger she harboured. 

She adored and hated Edelgard in equal measure. The young emperor was one of her fiercest friends, but also one of her fiercest opponents when it came to the business of war. Dorothea would protect every village if she could, hoping to reduce the number of casualties on both sides, but Edelgard was exacting and brutal. She knew when to take advantage of morale, when to slam into enemy ranks, when to sabotage supply trains—often at the expense of the non-combatants. Edelgard was not some noble warrior of old. She was a pragmatist, and it terrified Dorothea how easily her good intentions could be twisted into something insidious and unfeeling. Dorothea could see it in her eyes sometimes—the capacity to sacrifice everything, even herself, for her cause.

If not for Byleth’s timely reappearance, Edelgard might have fallen from grace still. It didn't matter who stood by her side; none of them could challenge Edelgard’s authority the way Byleth could.

Dorothea lifted the tent flap leading to Byleth’s temporary quarters and froze at the sight before her. Edelgard was leaning against the cot, eyes wild with terror, with Byleth pressed against her. Blood pooled underneath them, soaking the nearby cloak of what looked to be a Faerghus operative. Two swords lay forgotten next to them, along with some scattered medical equipment that spoke of an ambush.

Dorothea hurried to their side and overturned Byleth, grimacing at the sight of a dagger still embedded underneath her sternum. A quick diagnostic spell told her that the stab wound wasn’t fatal, but that Byleth was still in danger of bleeding out if she didn’t get medical attention soon. She turned to examine Edelgard, but the young emperor shook her head. “She took the blade for me,” Edelgard croaked. “I’m fine. She turned back time and—“ Edelgard stopped herself and closed her eyes. “Please. I know you can save her.”

Dorothea’s gaze slid sideways and downwards to the knife again. With quick, mechanical motions, she pulled the knife out and began to cut through Byleth’s thin shirt, reaching for some bandages and a spool of medical thread.

“Aren’t you going to heal her?” Edelgard demanded, turning paler at the sight of the needle.

“She’s gone through too many healings in the last twenty-four hours. If I try to heal her now, it might undo Manuela’s work on her.”

“Is she going to live?” Edelgard asked, watching Dorothea sterilize the needle.

“If she wasn’t, I would be in a much bigger panic,” Dorothea snapped back, angry that Edelgard was angry. “Seiros’s tits! What happened?”

“My uncle happened.” Edelgard helped Dorothea settle Byleth on the floor and used a pillow from the cot to elevate Byleth’s head before pulling away. “His clothes aren’t authentic. The blue is a shade too dark—they wouldn’t be able to get that dye unless they imported it—and he’s using the Blue Lions sigil. Faerghus’s coat of arms is vastly different.”

“This wasn’t your first assassin.”

Edelgard shrugged. “He’s getting more persistent.” 

Dorothea forced her hands to stop shaking and glanced up at Edelgard. “And what? You're just going to let him get away with that?”

“If I could hang the man right now I would.” Edelgard dropped into a chair and sighed. “As things are, I need his support lest I face the very real possibility of fighting a war on three fronts.”

“That's a terrifying thought.” 

“At the very least I can count on Claude to keep his nobles from starting an all-out war.”

Dorothea paused from her ministrations. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Excuse me?”

With the wound sewn shut, Dorothea began to wipe down Byleth’s torso with a fresh cloth, removing the blood that stained her flesh. “I can't exactly be mad at you. Not when I'm tending to our dear professor.”

“Because you think going after Claude was unnecessary?” Edelgard asked, the bitterness leaking in her tone. “That man is an opportunist, Dorothea. If we had gone after Dimitri first—“

“You're sure this isn't just some plot to conquer all of Fódlan?”

Edelgard straightened her spine and looked down at Dorothea, her expression unreadable. “If you must paint me as a villain then so be it.”

“Or you could be more upfront with the rest of us,” Dorothea snarled back though her hands remained steady. “Were you ever going to tell us about your evil uncle?”

“Of course.”

“And how do I know you're not lying?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Dorothea bit her lip and looked away. “You can trust in the knowledge that I want this war to end sooner than later—and that I will continue following you for Byleth’s sake.”

Edelgard nodded and stood up, picking up her sketchbook from the side of the cot where it had fallen during the struggle. “Then I trust the professor’s care in your capable hands. Good day, Dorothea.”

“I won't tell you know.”

Edelgard parted the tent flap and glanced back at Dorothea, eyes tired, lips twisted in a crooked smile. “I know. Like you, I'm trying to prevent a bloodshed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love seeing edie and dorothea butt heads


End file.
